


Prize

by Kalira



Category: Naruto
Genre: M/M, MadaTobi Week 2018, Minor Senju Hashirama/Uzumaki Mito, POV Outsider, Sparring, To the Victor Go the Spoils
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-03
Updated: 2018-08-03
Packaged: 2019-06-20 20:17:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15542178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kalira/pseuds/Kalira
Summary: Hashirama returns from an extended diplomatic mission to the sounds of a disastrously overpowered spar and his wife's serene assurance that his best friend and baby brother have been sparring most days after they finish working together at the Tower.





	Prize

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Day 6 of [MadaTobi Week](http://madatobiweek.tumblr.com/): to the victor go the spoils

“Precious!” Hashirama bounded over to his wife, wrapping his arms around her and spinning her around.

“Hello darling.” Mito smiled warmly as he let her down again, smoothing a hand over his side, and Hashirama grinned at her. “Welcome home.” She kissed him lightly, then pulled away, hand lifting to stroke his cheek instead. “Touka,” she inclined her head, “welcome home to you as well.”

Touka bowed her head in return, smirking. “Hime. Anything blow up without us?”

“Nothing that could not be contained.” Mito said with a serene expression. “Shall I catch you up as we walk?” she _suggested_ with a firm look.

Hashirama swallowed his impulse to protest exhaustion and nodded attentively. Mito favoured him with a sharp smile that told him she knew _exactly_ what he had been about to do, and she slipped her arm around his, stepping in close, warm and soft at his side. Hashirama smiled at her as she began to walk and had to remind himself hurriedly to focus on her words and not only his wife pressed in close against him.

Touka, without the responsibilities Hashirama had to return to, took her leave with a noticeably smug smile and headed wearily back for the Senju compound. Hashirama sighed, but turned his attention dutifully to his wife’s report.

They hadn’t made it very far into the village before Mito was interrupted by a shuddering _boom_ rending the air, making Hashirama stiffen. As the initial sounded faded into echoes, it was subsumed by the unmistakable ruffling roar of a powerful katon.

“Madara?” Hashirama identified warily, more than familiar with the sound of his best friend battling. And normally only _he_ got the brunt of Madara’s strength, of those in the village.

“Madara and Tobirama have taken to sparring in the afternoons when they can spare the time.” Mito said calmly, and Hashirama looked at her, eyes wide. “I believe they say it helps them deal with the tension of working together so closely to manage the village.”

“Uh. . . Precious?” Hashirama ventured. A great _crack_ of shattering ice echoed around them and Hashirama moved towards the source of the noise. Mito hooked her hand around his elbow again and followed along.

Hashirama restrained himself just enough not to dart ahead, with Mito hanging on to his arm, but he buzzed with anxious energy as they approached the source of the clashing noises. They stepped out onto one of the larger, more isolated training grounds just in time to see Madara spring out of a handstand and whirl as his hands flashed through seals, breathing out a plume of flame that raced along the ground towards Tobirama and spread wide.

A swirling wave surrounded Tobirama and put out the raging embers, then rose up and shaped into icy senbon, flying at Madara, who bellowed angrily and batted them aside, breathing more fire even as a few from the first wave made it through and drew blood along his right arm.

“Are you . . . _sure_ they’re just sparring?” Hashirama asked nervously, unwilling to pull away from Mito’s suddenly firm grip to try and interfere but more than a little concerned. Much to his despair, his best friend and his baby brother had never gotten on well, never seeming to get past their clans’ long history of bloody war. And Madara might be sparring rather than fighting - maybe; it could be hard to tell the difference with Madara, even for Hashirama who was well familiar with him - but even if he were, he was going all out.

“They haven’t killed each other yet.” Mito said dryly, and Hashirama whimpered, biting his lip.

Madara bounded through a series of suiton blades, twisting around each new swathe with the fluid ease to his movements that always seemed to surprise anyone watching him battle for the first time. He flipped, hands braced on the ground for a split-second - too short a time for Tobirama’s rising doton to catch them - then landed on the balls of his feet and breathed out a wall of flame.

Hashirama squeaked, but Tobirama was already gone before the fire reached his position, and Madara let it die as he whirled. He only barely managed to dodge sideways before a punch with a suiton blade following alongside could take him in the face. Not even time for a breath and he returned it with a kick, sending Tobirama tumbling away.

He regained his feet almost instantly, but Madara was already coming after him again, twining ribbons of fire leading the way as he struck out. Hashirama squeaked as Tobirama didn’t retreat, twisting between the fire and Madara’s fist and landing a solid punch to Madara’s chest from well inside his guard. Madara let out a low shout, twisting to follow as Tobirama kept moving, sliding away before he could be caught.

He caught Tobirama high on one thigh with a kick but it didn’t slow him down, and he used the moment of extension to strike out with what looked like a modified suiben and yank Madara’s other leg out from under him. Hashirama’s eyes widened.

Tobirama landed a blow directly between Madara’s shoulder blades even as he was falling, taking him down faster and harder and pinning him to the dirt, face all but grinding into the smouldering mud their battle had made of the dirt. Hashirama’s eyes widened. He hated to see the two fighting but he also hadn’t imagined-

Tobirama would not have been able to stand against Madara before the peace was made, he thought - he couldn’t be sure, as he and Madara had always diverted each other to protect the rest of their clans, but. . .

“Yield?” Tobirama asked, slightly breathless but tone perfectly even. He pressed Madara’s restrained hands higher up his back, leaning over him hard, knee braced against his spine.

Madara snarled, a tiny puff of flame spilling between his teeth. “Arrogant, cheating, _spiteful_ Senju!” he raged, thrashing under Tobirama.

Hashirama winced, but Tobirama only chuckled. He yanked sharply at Madara’s hands, making his back bow in an effort to keep his joints from being dislocated, then . . . released the hold. Madara twisted beneath him, looking mad enough to spit senbon.

“Yield?” Tobirama asked again, smirking, still kneeling astride Madara’s waist.

Madara bared his teeth and lunged upwards, now-freed hands reaching for Tobirama as though to wring his neck, and Hashirama finally bolted for them only to be caught up again by his wife’s renewed grip on his arm. “Mito!” he protested, flailing, reaching for his-

Hashirama’s eyes bugged out as Madara’s hands clasped Tobirama’s face but didn’t try to snap his neck or wrestle him into the dirt, only pulled him sharply down and met him with a kiss. Tobirama bowed easily as Madara pulled, hands sliding from their weak, but vaguely restraining hold on Madara’s shoulders to sink into his hair.

Hashirama opened his mouth, but only a few faint stuttering sounds came out.

“They’ve been much more pleasant to work with since they took up sparring with one another regularly.” Mito said serenely as one of Madara’s hands slid down Tobirama’s back and their kiss parted. Madara stroked Tobirama’s cheek with his free hand and kissed him again, more softly, and Hashirama listed sideways, slouching onto Mito’s shoulder and keening quietly in his confusion. Mito stroked his brow lightly. “You’ve always wished they would get along better!” she reminded him in a pleasant tone, which was _true_ , and Hashirama was glad they were, but he was having trouble wrapping his mind around the image of his best friend kissing his baby brother.

“Your hair is _filthy_.” Tobirama observed as he rocked back on the balls of his feet, and Madara glared. He tugged a lock of it, mud squeezing over his fingers, and Madara bared his teeth.

“ _You_ dumped me in the dirt, after throwing water everywhere.” Madara huffed back in a considerably gentler tone, despite his scowl.

“Clearly my fault.” Tobirama said dryly. “What was I thinking, given the high volume of flames you were spitting in all directions. I should obviously have allowed myself to be set on fire.” He rose with an almost lazy roll of his shoulders, stretching. He held out a hand to Madara, still half sprawled on the ground between his feet.

“Sometimes I wish you would.” Madara grumbled, gripping Tobirama’s hand and climbing to his feet, shaking his head and making a disgusted sound as a streak of wet ash smeared across his cheek from his hair.

“Aww, poor Uchiha.” Tobirama crooned, eyes sparkling with mischief Hashirama had barely seen him show for years, even now that they were at peace. He swallowed thickly, his heart aching and full. “If it was so clearly my fault, are you expecting me to help get you clean again?” Tobirama teased.

Madara snorted, a wry smile twisting his lips before he opened his mouth to speak, then stiffened, eyes landing on the pair watching them. He made a strangled sound and Tobirama’s expression shifted with curious concern as he looked around.

“Anija!” Tobirama’s eyes widened as he met Hashirama’s gaze, then flicked to Mito. “You’ve finally returned! Welcome home.” he said with a smile. “All is well? You, Touka, the mission?” he asked, interrupting Hashirama’s question, and Mito murmured confirmation on all three counts. “Good, good. . . Ah.” He raised a hand.

Hashirama began to call his brother’s name, but-

“Don’t you _dare_ , Senju!” Madara snapped, lunging for him.

Tobirama glanced at him, then smirked. “As you wish.” he said calmly, and didn’t flinch as Madara grabbed his bicep. “I did suggest I would help you get clean.” he added, lips curving a little more. Then he made a seal and disappeared, carrying Madara with him.

“Tobi!” Hashirama shouted an instant too late.

**Author's Note:**

> My friend Mikkimouse is responsible for suggesting 'sparring and the winner gets a kiss?' for this prompt, which I originally intended to skip in favour of just doing Supernatural/Fantasy for today. Then I couldn't resist the mental image - and then Hashirama, who I've barely written at all before, pouted until I wrote this in his POV . . . which was a fun experiment but also tricksy. XD
> 
> Come chat with me on [Tumblr](http://kalira9.tumblr.com/) or [Twitter](https://twitter.com/SerenaMarceaux).


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